Night Walking Terror
by OmoMeowth
Summary: Amaya. Rape.


Amaya crossed one leg in front of the other and forced herself to stay still long enough to lock the door to the ticket booth. Normally, she worked concessions with another feline named Tonga, but the concept of 'positions' was more of a formality than a rule at Roseville's premiere theater, and when it was required, people were often moved around in order to make up for the absence of another.

This was the exact thing that had landed Amaya a spot in the ticket booth, a position she truly detested. When she worked concessions, she didn't have to deal with quite as many people. Only a fraction of the people buying tickets bought candy or drinks, and even then, she had Tonga to hide behind. It was only when things were _really _busy did she have to man the register. The ticket vendors had to deal with _everybody_ coming in, and while yes, there was more than one ticket vendor, the numbers still didn't even out.

There was also the issue of questions. Questions, questions, questions! Customers constantly inquired about things the vendors couldn't answer, like business questions and movie reviews. As if she would have any idea! And, for some reason, people had unanimously concluded that the ticket booth was the best place to go for a refund when a movie didn't meet their expectations. It was a stressful position, especially for a girl who had literally been challenged at school to prove she wasn't mute.

The last minor frustration was the lack of bathroom breaks. When there isn't much going on, it's not a big deal to leave the booth for a quick toilet run, at least if there is another booth open to take new arrivals; however, when it is busy, she isn't allowed to leave, and it seems like she doesn't have to go until the lines are halfway out the door.

When she managed to get the door locked, she wasted no time in dropping the key in her pocket and briskly walking to the women's bathroom, trying not to look too rushed. When she finished relieving herself, she approached the bathroom sink and started to wash her hands. She examined herself in the mirror and found that she looked completely ridiculous – though, that was nothing new. The theater required everyone that worked there to wear the same strange outfits.

There were the long, generic-looking, black trousers that all seemed to be designed for males (despite there being a majority of women working at the theater). They weren't too bad, but she was a bit bothered by how many compliments she drew from her coworkers in them. Compliments are nice, but when they involve wearing a pair of church pants most likely made for a thirteen year-old boy… It's a bittersweet sensation.

The top was a gold and red disaster area. She had never been much for fashion, but she could say, without a doubt, that her work vest was awful. The collar was a shimmering gold that looked like someone had spray-painted it on and then mixed the wet paint with glitter. The body of the vest was a deep shade of red that seemed like a cut out of a faux red carpet. The idea for the golden buttons running down the center was most likely copied from the "Thriller" music video, and the thin, black trimming around the majority of the vest was entirely out of place.

At least she didn't have to wear the hat. One of the biggest benefits of selling tickets was not having to wear the hat. It looked more like a poorly crafted paper-mache boat than it did an actual thing you would put on your body. She always felt like an idiot wearing it, and even standing behind the counter, in the one place she would be expected to look like that, it drew some looks.

She sighed and left the bathroom. It was dark, dismal, and windy outside, but she wasn't dreading the walk home. In fact, she had grown to look forward to them. It was a bit risky to be out walking around at night, but it was a pretty safe community, and she had to get around _somehow_. It made sense that she may as well try enjoying her time out there, since it was unavoidable.

She glanced around, checking to see if Tonga was around, but she had already left, just as Amaya suspected. Sometimes, when rain was looming on the horizon, she would offer her a ride; however, Tonga wasn't one to wait around, and in order for Amaya to catch up with her after working the ticket-booth, she had to skip going to the bathroom, the only thing riskier than walking home at night.

It didn't matter, anyway. If she got rained on, she got rained on. She wasn't really sweating it. If anything, it sounded a bit fun. It had been awhile since she had last walked home in the rain, and while she normally had a bunch of things she didn't want to get wet (like a backpack and school supplies), this particular night she didn't have anything of the sort. She had nothing to lose!

She left the safety of the movie theater and ventured out into the night. It was as desolate as always, nothing but the streetlights protecting her from the looming blanket of darkness that occupied every alleyway and crevice.

The wind did a good job of covering up the palpable silence of the evening, but it did so by rustling leaves and blowing garbage around the blackened area, leaving Amaya nervous and jittery. She kept telling herself she had nothing to fear. She had walked home at night many times before, but she never seemed to get used to it, and the noises all around her weren't helping.

Thunder roared somewhere off in the distant sky as Amaya crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled deeply. The wind had changed her mind about the rain very quickly, and she knew that even a short downfall would leave her freezing and miserable. She started walking a little faster, hoping the clouds would hold off just a few more minutes.

She was moments away from her neighborhood when a small group of people rounded the corner about 100 feet in front of her. Her heart started pounding and the blood rushed to her fingertips. She knew who they were; she had run into them a couple of times before. Whenever she passed them, they always harassed her and called her names. It had never gotten physical, but there had been threats - particularly sexual ones. From what she had gathered through their yelling, they all hated her. They found her ugly and flat. Though, there was one in the group that seemed to find it attractive… But that only worried her more.

The very thought of it made her sick. There was no way of knowing if things would ever get physical, but for the time being, the slurs were enough to cause her a lot of grief. She took a quick look around and noted a small, dark alleyway next to her. Without thinking, she nonchalantly entered it, hoping to hang out there until they passed.

They had only been opposite each other for a few seconds, so she couldn't be sure that they had seen her; even if they had, they probably didn't recognize her. They would most likely assume she had gone through the alleyway to avoid them anyway, despite the walk being easily triple the length. It was a good plan. Or at least, it was the best she had.

The alley was extremely dark. She was standing against a grimy wall next to a dumpster, waiting, listening attentively for them to pass. Every second in that black prison made her confidence dwindle a bit more, and by the time she heard them approaching, she was struggling to keep her breathing low and controlled. She noticed the alleyway felt a lot different than the street did. She was hidden away from the wind, so it was a lot cooler and quieter.

Finally, she heard them. It was faint, but she could just make out the sound of their footsteps on the sidewalk. She stopped and listened extra-attentively. She heard them getting louder as they got closer, but in an instant, they stopped. There was no more audible movement. At first, she wondered if they had simply gotten out of ear shot, but it happened too quickly. Just when their steps were loudest they-

"I think I saw 'ere go in here"

Every muscle in her body tightened as the grotesque air from the dumpster filled her lungs. They knew she was in the alley…? No. They didn't know for sure, but it seemed that they had a hunch. Had they thought ahead? Considered she could be in there hiding?

Amaya bit down on her lower lip. She was in relative darkness, and it was good enough for her to be overlooked, but with someone searching for her… What were they going to do? What was going to happen? The gravity of the situation had changed so quickly and so drastically that she found herself almost grounded with fear. Her hands were shaking and her heart stung each time it pounded against her chest.

She saw the outline of a body in front of her. It was lurking around, silent; only the soft tap of the person's foot hitting the ground was audible. It seemed to be looking in all directions, and suddenly, it stopped and stared. She couldn't tell where it was looking, but it was definitely fascinated with something, and it felt as though being entirely still was the best way to handle what it was looking at.

Suddenly, she felt a new wave of fear wash over her as she struggled to keep her wobbling knees from collapsing. The creature in front of her was not staring at something; it was staring at her. She couldn't be sure, but she felt like the stare was inquisitive. She felt like the darkness was still keeping her safe… Maybe it didn't know it was her. Maybe it would continue its search somewhere else. Maybe it would even give up and-

A hand smashed into her face and pushed her into the cement behind. There was no inquisition. There was no curiosity. The creature violently threw her to the ground and called out for its friends. It had been staring at her, trying to scare her, trying to make her know that she had been found. To make her spend those last few seconds praying she would be left alone. It made the situation so much worse; it made her know that what those cold eyes wanted.

Amaya grabbed at her face in pain, her nose throbbing from the impact and the sides of her face burning where the fingers had gripped her all too hard. She looked up and saw dark figures moving in from the light of the street. She tried to count them, but the fear and pain was too distracting. She couldn't focus.

There was an echo of laughter coming from the group. The mocking seemed to convey a slight sense of cockiness and awe. The first thought that entered Amaya's mind was to run away. She wanted to crawl backward, to get back on her feet and run, to do anything that would get her away from them. The next thought was to fight. To raise her petite little arms and swing the fists more fit to be baby rattlers than weapons. Anything that might scare them off. And finally, she thought about screaming. Maybe someone could help her; maybe another body would scare them off.

But instead, she did nothing. Her body was completely unresponsive, it was completely paralyzed by fear; and when she realized this, tears formed in her eyes and her mouth curled into a pitiful, girlish frown. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to make herself look weak. And most importantly, she didn't want to do anything that might make her situation worse.

But she couldn't help herself. The black silhouettes hung above her like buzzards to a corpse.

"Mmmm, look who it is… The wittle Tabby with no twest!" A dark figure descended on her and pinned her to the ground. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't tell from where. The terror was too overwhelming; her mind was racing too quickly.

"Yah, dis girl taught she could 'ide from us."

"Ha ha ha! Well aint she gotta nutta thing comin?'"

Amaya struggled to breath. The dark figure from before was sitting on her stomach, very nearly crushing her.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…" The words inadvertently slipped out as a hand slid down her stomach. In one instant she realized what was happening. She knew the significance of the situation. She knew who was on her stomach, who was touching her. She didn't _know _him, but they had interacted before. It was the one who liked her. The boy in the gang who didn't find her ugly. The one that found her… cute.

"Now, you don't scream, alright? If you scream, I'll kill you. You got dat?"

Amaya's response was a small squeak that slipped out through a stifled sob.

"Huh? I said you got it?!" He smacked her in the face. Her head bobbed up and down in response as the small crowd laughed at her. Maybe someone would walk by and see what was going on… Maybe someone would help.

The boy's hand started to meander up her stomach in a teasing and deliberate way. She knew where those long, boney fingers were going. She knew that once they finished tracing her belly button; that once they finished lightly kneading the fur on her stomach, that they would crawl upward to her chest and molest her without mercy. Somehow, she almost wished he would just do it. That he would get it over with. There was something horrifying about the act. Something sickening about the sensuality and care that radiated from his movements. It felt as if he were trying to seduce her.

Or maybe she was just bothered by how long he was taking. It was hard for her to tell how much time had passed, but he didn't seem to be in any rush. There was a voice in her head that told her that she could still be fine. That there was a chance she wouldn't be touched or violated in any way beyond what had already happened, but a more logical voice, sitting in the back of her mind, begged to differ.

Amaya knew what was coming. She was preparing herself for it. Eventually those thin, pin like claws were going to rub across her npples, and his dirty, unwashed hands were going to squeeze her small, sensitive chest. The thought disgusted and horrified her. It made her cringe with a powerful, unforgettable, pain, and it made her almost cry with rebellious fear.

She was pinned on the ground, laying in a puddle of some unknown liquid, a strange, deranged boy on top of her. Admitting it was hard, but she knew that getting away merely molested was probably her best bet. Being able to go home with the simple memories of being touched inappropriately, as terrible as they were, was actually the better poison. She could never walk around at night again. She could be extra careful. She could call the police. She could make sure it would never happen again… But if he didn't stop at violation, if he decided to go farther… Nothing could ever take that experience away. Nothing could ever make up for it.

Amaya already knew what the boy was going to do. She knew that he wasn't going to stop after touching her a bit. She knew he wasn't going to let her go. But she continued to tell herself otherwise. She continued to foster the demented mindset that was pro-molestation, all in an attempt to stay above water in a sea of mental anguish.

And finally, the fingers ran over her nipples. The feeling was surreal and truly sickening. It was unexpected and poignant. The mere grazing of her nipple made her back tighten. It made her want to cry and vomit at the same time. For an instant, she understood sexuality a bit better… she understood why people might touch each other in such ways. And tears started to overflow from her eyes as she began to realize the experiences she was losing. She had always wanted to do these things with someone special… She had always wanted to find someone who appreciated her for who she was. Yet, instead, here was this strange, strange man, forcing himself on her. It took everything in Amaya to not scream out loud. She had never hated a person before – at least not with such undeniable definition. But she hated this person. She hated him more than anything.

The boy's hand ran over her chest multiple times, but the sensation didn't get any easier to bear, no matter how many passes he made. Amaya's eyes were clenched shut and her teeth grinded together. Tears were running down her cheeks. His hands slowed for a minute, and she wondered if it was over; if she had finally suffered enough. But her hopes were promptly shot down.

His fingers started to fiddle with the fur around her groin. She tried to prepare herself for what was coming, but the sensation was too new. The feeling was too raw. In an instant, his finger entered her crotch and she cried out. She tried to the stifle the noise, not wanting to be hit again; but he didn't hit her. He only laughed. He got close to her ear and whispered:

"Having fun?"

The words served as another reminder of the sheer gravity of the situation. The heartless, sadistic nature of the person on top of her was confirmed. It reminded her of his eyes. When she stood in the darkness, afraid, wobbling at the knees, hoping he would leave her be. She saw those eyes penetrating the darkness, only existing in that place at that time for the given purpose of filling her heart with fear.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning as his finger caressed the insides of her most delicate area. It wasn't in pleasure that she cried, but in an overflow of feeling. She was so new to being touched in such a way that whether the experience was good or bad, she couldn't control the squeaks slipping from her throat.

Then she heard it. From over his shoulders, there was a slight clamor… The stifled giggles and jeers of the group that watched her molestation with enjoyment; the unfeeling souls that derived pleasure from the abuse. And a feeling formed in her body. It was something she had never felt before. It smelled of hopelessness and universal hatred; it felt truer and wronger than any one thing she had previously felt. It started in her chest and sank below her heart, until it was so weighed down by guilt and fear that is burst. The feeling spread through her body like a poison and infected her without mercy.

And then the feeling left her. In its place there had a grown a sensation of utter incompleteness. Fresh tears streamed from her eyes. It had felt that if for a moment she was on the brink of some divine epiphany, as if the answer to her pains was to be validated and she was to be set free… And then her soul cracked, and the feeling seeped out. It was nothing more than a warning. It was a mere milestone. A notification, a congratulatory message…

But before she had a chance to feel any worse for herself, the man pulled his finger from her crotch and looked out her. He had been staring at her the whole time, but then his gaze seemed primitive and intimidating. It had taken on a new tone. A tone of something far more sinister. Of something far more malevolent and sick. His eyes glowed with renewed energy and life; they glowed with insanity and complete disregard for social law – empathy.

Amaya inhaled deeply, and before she had a chance to release her breath, the man was already squatting above her, roughly flipping her. Flopping her on her stomach like a piece of meat. She felt her breasts splash into the liquid that covered her back.

It started to rain. First, it drizzled, and then it poured. The water filled the small alleyway.

Amaya cried, and sobbed, and begged, and cried some more. But all of her pleas were left unanswered. Nobody was there to help. No God, no person, no luck, and no fate. The man got more and more aggressive, and the pain became more and more poignant. And then, like a flash of lightening, she realized what was happening. She realized that she wasn't like anybody else, and that she never could be.

She knew in an instant she would never be normal. She would never feel good again. Her girlish, child-like dreams of finding a boyfriend had been crushed, her desire for love her been abolished, and a wish for death had been formed. The man pushed into her without remorse. His friend's complained about the rain and told him to hurry up; for that was the most pressing of matters. And then, something peculiar happened…

That feeling started to come back. That divine epiphany took shape once again… It didn't start in her chest this time, though. It started everywhere. It started in her legs, in her arms, in her heart, and in her head. It shook with anger, embarrassment, hatred, and desperation… It begged for release. And then it shattered.

Her life ended like glass. Broken into a million fragments of indefinable nothing.

Amaya let her head sink. She no longer cried, nor did she beg to be freed. There was a silent wish to go home and to sleep. To be out of the immediate pain. But there was also a poignant, ironic sense of apathy. This deliberate, carefree attitude. She let her head rest in the puddle of sewage water along the ground. She didn't care. Nobody should care. It was nothing, anyway. After all, if her life could be shattered so easily, couldn't anyone's?


End file.
